dancing in the rain
by hopelesslyhoping
Summary: This is me filling in the blanks. These are my thoughts written down as they are. This is stuff I wished would've happened. / Dance Academy one-shots, because I miss it.
1. Looks like it

**A/N: This is forever my favorite show. Kat is forever my favorite character. Kat and Christian is forever my favorite thing. The show left out too much, everywhere, on everyone, this story is my idea of filling in the blanks. Or: here's my doodles, enjoy them.**

 **DISCLAIMER: Doesn't matter how many times I re-watch, show's not mine.**

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 **Title: Looks like it.  
Pairings + characters: Kat, Christian, Abigail  
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Frienship (if you squint, or you're all about girl-power)  
Summary: It's a spur of the moment thing, him seeking her out. Boy does the best friend make him regret it. / set in third year**

 **Inspired by this weheartit-photo I found.**

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He knocks on the door next to the stairs with his eyes glued to the floor and his right hand lost in his messy black locks, knowing it's the last thing he should be doing. His best friend is dead and his spot at the academy has lost its meaning and he isn't in love with the love of his life anymore. He's always been the most closed off, he's never been able to really fit in, and he's always had the thickest and highest walls possible. And she's always been completely open with him, she's never wanted to blend in oh-so-easily, and she tore down every single scrap of pathetic wall in the blink of an eye without even breaking a nail.

His feet are more blisters than feet, his hair is a mess atop his head more often than not, and his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep and red and puffy from crying. His voice is so hoarse to the point where it's barely considered a voice; he doesn't know what he wants in life and what matters to him, his mind races a mile a minute and he's through with thinking straight. She doesn't talk to him anymore, doesn't pretend not to care any longer, and doesn't hide behind everyone or anyone. And she's so strong and so brave, yet so scared and so incredibly broken. She seems so happy and so beautiful, but he knows she's just scared (scared, but still _beautiful_ ).

They were so damn good, to each other and together, and he doesn't want to forget that. He first saw her on her knees in front of the vending machine praying for a coke. And then she became his safe amongst the chaos that was the academy, the one person he tolerated skating with. She was the best friend who made him fall without even trying, the girl he was never prepared to catch because she'd always deserved so much better. They survived it all, and they crashed so hard, yet their love was doomed before it even began. They should've made it to the end, and they both wanted to, but they never really began in the first place.

And as he shakes his head clear of thoughts and raises his head from the floor to the door, he remembers her tired eyes and defeated sigh and lingering goodbye-kiss. The handle gives and the door creaks, and he thinks about how much he loves her piercing blue eyes and gorgeously carefree smile. He mentally punches himself in the gut – because what is he doing outside the door of the one whose heart he broke? – as his eyes automatically slam shut in fear of a slap across the face or dead eyes or confused laughter. But instead a groan reaches his ears, an irritated one at that, and he cracks one eye open to come face to face with the only girl he hasn't been involved with.

"She's not here," Abigail declares, cockily blowing on her wet and newly painted nails.

He sighs, and forces himself to meet her narrowed eyes, "I'll wait."

As the small brunette steps aside to let him in, with her hair in a perfect bun and her face green with face mask, he realizes that this is the same brunette who threatened to hurt him if he broke her roommate's heart like he broke Tara's. And as he takes a seat at the edge of his ex's bed, while Abigail kicks the door shut and goes in search for sweatpants as if he hasn't seen her bare legs before, he wonders why he never got hurt – because if there's anything he's sure of it's that he never did break Tara Webster, just her best friend. So he sits and tries not to think about how the right someone must've defended his honor with Abigail to have her back off, he twiddles his thumbs as the roommate he always failed to pay attention to falls back on her pink bed clad in a pair of green sweatpants that don't go with her pink leotard.

"Um, where is she?" He asks, uncertain if he even wants to know.

"Just out," Abigail replies nonchalantly, still blowing on her soon-to-be Chanel red nails.

He nods, though knowing the last thing Abigail's doing is paying attention to him. The fact that she could be running on the beach with her pony-tail bouncing is comforting, but still nothing against the possibility of her glued to some random guy with alcohol in hand and heels on her feet. His eyes finds his own pathetic reflection in the mirror – someone who's given up – and he runs another hand through his hair though knowing it won't make a difference. His mind is so busy it hurts to blink, but he's never voiced his racing thoughts to Abigail Armstrong. And the silence is so loud it hurts his buzzing head, but he never has anything to say to Abigail Armstrong.

"Christian," her voice breaks the spell, and he notes just how much more alert her voice is this time. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

"I don't know, I just... I need to see her," he admits lamely, because you never find it in yourself to lie to Abigail.

The silence comes back as they sit on one bed each, her dressed for staying in and him looking like he's risen from the dead. Shecki the turtle rests atop the white dresser, in between the perfumes and the make-up bag. The only picture of the two of them that isn't blurry with one set of peace signs hangs with all the other pictures on her head board, with his smile uncharacteristically wide and her lips placed lightly on his cheek - her hand is on his chest and his t-shirt is covering her bikini, his arm is around her waist and her blonde hair blends with his black locks. He spots her leopard printed leotard hanging with all her other ones, and wonders if all these things remind her of them too.

He became the Peter Pan to her Tinkerbell and it made her realize just how big of a joke their relationship was despite how much they'd enjoyed themselves. She let him go even though she loved him and he didn't want her to, and when Sammy died the rift was too big and beyond repair and they silently agreed to just be strangers with the same friends. He wants to know what turn the events would've taken had he listened to Sammy and respected Tara and ignored his heart; if she would've stayed his crushing best friend had he not gone against his better judgment and kissed her there on the docks because she made everything so much more fun and oh-so-effortlessly easy.

"Can I say something?" Abigail questions, though they both know she will anyway. "And can you not tell my best friend about it?"

He merely shrugs, because he's in no position to argue, "Sure."

She takes a deep breath, and her hard brown eyes find his despite the tension in the air, "Her eyes don't light up when she hears your name anymore."

His breath gets caught in his throat, his muscles tense up and Shecki and the picture and the leotard isn't backing him up anymore. From the very beginning he's had the option of walking away, but for some reason this particular girl made him stay – back then it was only to punch the vending machine so the pretty blonde could get her coke, of course. But then she decided she was too cool to care, and he decided she just wanted someone to fight for her just once. And when she proceeded to make the mistake of falling in love, he did nothing but love her back. The only time he had walked away, yet another time where he shouldn't, was after she ended things on the ice rink and skated off to Abigail and Sammy as if what they'd shared meant nothing to her.

"She doesn't get chills when you walk by her and her heart doesn't race when you smile at her," she continues easily, as if she's merely reading her grocery list. "You don't get to her like you used to."

He's always been screwed up to the point where one could find it funny. His dad left him before he even became his own person, and his mother's shouldn't-have-happened death scared him beyond reason. He auditioned for the academy and made friends who didn't even know him, and backed away once they did. He's fallen both in and out of love, and he's reached for his skateboard-shaped escape more often than not. But ever since she decided he had a curable case of 'people phobia' his excuses had more or less been thrown out of the window, because she didn't care. And he loved that she didn't care, that she could go skating during exam week without a second thought and put all her built up frustration into cupcakes instead of disagreements.

He loves that she was his friend first, that he could be himself with her and that she trusted him without having a reason to. She was the one person who time and time again refused to take him up on his unspoken yet ever-lasting offer of walking out of his life because he didn't deserve love, the one good thing he never wanted to mess up because he was afraid where it would leave him afterwards. But he nodded his agreement, because even though she'd ended their relationship and gone back to her damn buffer it's him and only him who's screwed things up between them. His heart skips a beat when he hears her name, his muscles tense when she walks by, and his mind goes blank whenever she smiles – because she'll always get to him, no matter how much truth lies behind Abigail's speech.

"You're just a bad memory in the back of her mind," Abigail decides, her eyebrow raised in a challenging manner.

And his eyebrows furrow, because he suddenly finds the need to protest, "We were great."

"You were kidding yourselves for a surprisingly long time," she corrects, a smirk making its way to her face. "And you're forgetting all the crap."

Relationships at the Australian Academy of Dance are the joke of the century, no matter the year and the people and their feelings. Grace decides she likes people, but when they like her back she realizes she kind of hates them. Ben's inexperienced and cocky, and falls hard within the first three seconds. Abigail claims she puts dance over boys, but her love story is the most beautiful one there is. Ollie's the tough guy who thinks he's too cool for feelings, but after it all ends he's nothing but a wreck. Tara jumps from crush to crush equally eager, yet she ends up stuck with the one guy who tripped her. And the guy who did the tripping finds himself on his ex-girlfriend's bed getting lectured by her roommate, becoming more and more sure for every second that passes that he shouldn't have come.

But he did come, and Abigail is still proving a point - all for the prima ballerina with messy buns who loves rock music and burgers. The same girl who fell in _like_ with the one guy she couldn't have all the way back in first year when everybody was trying to find themselves. The girl whose boundaries were pushed to the limit by the one guy who'd never learned to respect them on her sixteenth, who kissed her crush the very same night. The ex-girlfriend of pop-sensation Miles Kelly who helped her run away from all her problems, but not without saying a tearful goodbye to the one guy she'd failed to let go. The best friend who slipped up and lost everything, only to have her boyfriend love somebody else on top of it all. The beautiful blonde with the over-protective roommate and sorry ex-boyfriend, who was partying her worries away so not to stop and think about how her best friend wasn't with her anymore.

"... So don't be surprised next time you make you way past her and she doesn't even glance your way," Abigail warns, her voice going cold.

He raises an eyebrow at her, deciding he won't go down without a fight, "Yeah?"

And she continues as if she didn't even hear him, "And don't bother trying to talk to her, you won't get a response."

If mind over matter would've kept her in his life as the crushing best friend, walking away from the very first second like his old self thought he should've would have ensured marriage and dancing babies with Tara Webster. She'd just be his girlfriend's best friend, Sean's carefree and hip hop gifted partner, the ballerina who ate too much burgers to be a ballerina – a mystery he would never figure out like he has. He wouldn't have been invited to her sweet sixteen, he wouldn't have kissed her on the docks because he wouldn't have known that everything was easier with her around and he wouldn't have come to her door in the middle of the night with the intentions of a relationship because he'd decided he was through with caring too.

There would be no awkwardness with the Peter Pan production because she would've found her jealousy elsewhere, and they wouldn't have hugged and cried and danced together at Sammy's memorial because she was his girlfriend's best friend and he was her best friend's roommate. He wouldn't have taken the role as a skating tutor, he wouldn't have watched every single horror movie there was while cuddling on the couch, he wouldn't have known her back-up plan was to run away and join the circus or that she dreamed of dating a pirate.

She might've shaved her head because he wouldn't have been there to let her know it suited her long and might not have gotten back into the academy because there wouldn't have been a turtle named Shecki watching. And he might've realized that Tara made him happy in the wrong way – because she was innocent and quiet and simple – but at least there would be no breaking up the best of friends and ruining the greatest of relationships. They wouldn't have found the one person who got them through and through, and they never would've gone from best friends to boyfriend and girlfriend to awkward strangers. He wouldn't be sitting on her bed while she was out, and he wouldn't have to stand for Abigail's words repeatedly stabbing at him.

"You see, she's over fighting the same losing battle," Abigail sounds so sure it scares him to pieces. "And the saddest part is that you have no one to blame but yourself."

He lets out a defeated sigh, because Abigail knows exactly what she's doing and he has no clue, "And why's that?"

"She gave you every chance you ever could have asked for and you messed up every time," she responds matter-of-factly, like his idiocy is as obvious as Canberra being the capitol.

He knows what she's going to say before she even says it, and there isn't a single part of him that's paralyzed with shock or vibrating with anger because Abigail's so right it hurts. Shecki is an adorable stuffed turtle that was with her for her re-audition, a lousy excuse for him not having the guts to turn up himself. Her leopard printed leotard is her favorite one, and it fits so nicely, and therefore she can easily overlook the fact that she wore it the night she tried to turn him down – the night when their relationship began, even though that was already the end. And then there's the picture on her headboard, where everything still came easily and without second thought because they were always there for each other, and he realizes it's nothing but a symbol of her very last shred of hope.

He screwed up one too many times with the girl whose friendship meant the most, and the last time he could do something about it is long gone. She's always wanted to move on and she's always been seconds away, and he's never let her yet never realized. He's always thought she deserved – _deserves_ – better, but maybe he's also led himself to believe he is better. She's out and no matter where and why it's what she wants to be doing in this particular moment, and he knows with every fiber of his being that she expects and wants to come home to a nail polish-stealing Abigail with suggestions of Golden Steps 1 through 4 as her apology.

"Now," Abigail begins just as they hear heels clacking against the wooden floor and laughter filling the common room. "Now she walks around with nothing but a smile on her face and she laughs even louder than before."

"I know, okay?" He exclaims, his realization suddenly angering him. "You have to know I'm aware of that."

The door's violently thrown open before Abigail gets a response out, and Christian's back to the skipping heart, the tense muscles and the blank mind. She's so incredibly perfect it's beyond reason. Her blonde hair is straightened to absolute perfection and then thrown up in the kind of pony-tail that everyone just knows has to be the work of Abigail. The rose necklace Ethan sent in the mail is clasped around her throat; her dancer's body is wrapped up in a little black dress with her amazingly long legs on full display. She's sporting red heels and a matching bag, clumsy steps and a drunken smile.

But even in her tipsy state she finds it in herself to stop at the doorway, and even after Abigail's speech Christian finds himself surprised by the lack of a reaction. He definitely doesn't get to her like he apparently used to. Her eyes stay unfocused and her smile doesn't disappear, she doesn't meet his eyes and she doesn't say a word. And then she raises an eyebrow at her roommate, the one she doesn't know she needs to thank, and Abigail goes from lecturing and cold to laughing in less than a single second. He feels so out of place it's insane, because he can't even count on both hands all the nights he's spent in this room and on this bed with these girls.

He stands up, more because it feels right than anything else, and as he again goes in search for her strikingly blue eyes he finds himself coming up short and inside he darkly laughs at how spot-on Abigail almost always is. She takes off one heel and then the other and Abigail compliments them, he runs another hand through his hair and lets his eyes drop from blonde to floor. Somewhere amongst the awkward tension someone should cut with a knife, Christian finally realizes what life would be like if he woke up from a nightmare crying and proceeded to let his instinct lead him to the door of the girl who's nothing but a stranger to him.

"Uh, so what's he doing here?" She asks Abigail, throwing her shoes at the bottom of the bed.

"Leaving," he cuts in, not caring about all the awkward in the air. "I'm leaving. Just needed some help with anatomy is all."

She nods in his general direction, and grabs a white towel from their rack by the door, "Cool."

He watches her disappear the way she came and then he follows without much thought. He shouldn't have come – he'd needed her, and he probably still would, but she would never need him back ever again. She's dancing her troubles away and pulling girl's nights with Abigail and Tara whenever she can, she's happy and she's okay and he's not sure what to think of that. Part of him knows it's always been her, from the very second they first locked eyes, and the rest of him is ready to roll over and die for messing it all up. He's the happiest when she's around, his troubles are washed away the second she opens her mouth, there's a glint in her eyes that makes everything so relaxed and easy - and she doesn't even know it.

She's moved on and he's regretting every wrong word and every thoughtless action. She's laughing and smiling without a single care in the world, and he's so empty. His eyes will automatically light up when he hears her name. He'll get the chills when she walks by and his heart will race whenever she finds it in herself to smile at him again. She'll always be the one that got away. The best thing that ever happened to him. And he can't wait for the eye-contact after she forgives herself for loving him. He can't wait for when she'll actually bother talking to him again, when all his unanswered questions might get a response. He's over listening to everybody else's opinions. The best part is that she is to blame for his ever-growing feelings. He gave her every single reason to walk away and she stayed every time. Now he's stuck loving her from a distance and mentally fixing every mistake he ever made with her. Looks like he isn't done with them after all.

"Christian!" Abigail calls, the smallest of smiles visible on her face.

He whirls around to face her, his every muscle aching, "Yeah?"

She shrugs helplessly, her smile widening ever-so-slightly, "Looks like you lost her, bro."

"Yeah, looks like it," he agrees, almost laughing.

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 **A/N: This hurts, but I love it. Thank you for making it all the way to the bottom. It'll probably be forever until my next update, I technically don't have the time to write anymore.**

 **\- Brooke.**


	2. i'll be yours and you'll be mine

**Title: i'll be yours and you'll be mine  
** **Pairings + characters: Kat, Christian, mentions of Benstara  
** **Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Frienship (Romance? I don't know)  
** **Summary: You're my person. / set in an alternate universe where Ben won Kat over and Christian and Tara never stopped being Christian and Tara**

 **I guess inspired by Grey's Anatomy, though I've never seen it; just liked the idea of everyone having a person really.**

* * *

She didn't usually opt for the studio when everything felt wrong, mostly because she was Kat Karamakov. But this time, she needed to be okay again, and dance all her troubles away before they tore her down. Then again, Kat and studios had never really gotten along that much, and so it was amazingly unsurprising that she was lying on her back in the middle of the room without both music and her pointe shoes. Her teary gaze remained fixed on the boring white ceiling, her arms rested limply at her sides, her hair lay wildly around her head.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

She lazily turned her head sideways, her eyes landing on his worn out sneakers, "Well, the rehearsals were built for everyone; knock yourself out."

He probably nodded, or something, but she was eyeing the ceiling again and could never be sure. Their breaths synchronized effortlessly as he laid down next to her, his eyes on her rather than the ceiling but still, with both hands folded behind his head. Neither of them said a single word, letting the non-awkward yet uncomfortable silence stretch on, as they breathed in and breathed out and pushed away at the memories that had every intention of knocking them down.

"Are you okay?" he asked, though he failed to sound like he cared.

"Yeah, fine," she replied, throwing in an eye-roll for good measure. "We do this all the time, you know. Make up, do fine, have a fight, break it off, and then repeat."

He laughed, and she did too, "It's still okay not to be okay though."

Part of her was sure he knew what he was talking about – didn't he have the worst kind of love out of the two of them? – but the rest of her failed to give a damn. Sure, her relationship had her heartbroken and crying every three months, but anything was better than being in love and not doing anything about it. Repeatedly coming back to one another because of love was a thousand times healthier than staying away for the exact same reason. Kat didn't know much, she didn't love much either, but she knew that she could handle the fights and the tears for the rest of her life as long as the good times and kisses came with.

"And you?" she questioned, almost mockingly. "Are you okay?"

"Okay is a joke," was his response.

She nodded, or something, and because his eyes were still boring holes in the side of her head he probably noticed before she even did. Her chest fell and rose calmly, and his rose and fell with it, and she glared at the ceiling while he glared at her. There were no more words for the best friends turned golden couple turned strangers, and that didn't come as much of a shock to either of the two. They'd slowly but surely gone from telling each other everything to sharing absolutely nothing, from escaping reality at the beach to constantly refusing eye-contact – and even though okay was a joke, that was exactly how they felt about it.

"I don't know, I think... I think maybe he's my person," she voiced her thoughts out loud, pretending that they were first year besties and not third year strangers.

"I don't," he countered easily, and she smiled as she realized he was pretending too. "But I think you're his."

She shook her head with a laugh, "Dude, that doesn't even make sense."

And so they laughed together, like they hadn't done in too many months. Every person had another person, and every heartbreak just brought one closer to happily ever after. Kat was eighteen and convinced she'd found her person, up until they broke up again and she ended up in a studio with yet another one of her damn heartbreaks. Because they didn't work, even though he loved her and she loved him – they always came back to each other because she was his person, but maybe things always took one bad turn after another all because he wasn't hers?

She sighed, and finally turned her head sideways to look at him, "Do you think she's yours, then? I mean, while you're not hers?"

"We're not together, are we?" he threw back, more exhausted than angry. "If that doesn't speak for itself, I don't know what does."

"I think I want him to be my person," she admitted, an embarrassed pink tinging her cheeks. "He could be gone any second, even though I love him. I need him to stay, so he's my person."

"And you call our love unhealthy," he replied, amusement glinting in his chocolate brown eyes. "To me, it sounds a whole lot like you're settling."

She snorted, and he finally let himself laugh – they're both downright screwed and very well aware of it. They're both blindly in love, they're both heartbroken and they're both sick and tired of being sick and tired. The two of them never got as far as love, never moved passed all the damn kissing, and the two of them knew things were done way before they even began. Yet they were lying side by side, face to face, on the floor of the loneliest rehearsal past curfew. Yet, they were talking and laughing like they used to.

"Settling with love doesn't sound all too bad to me," she shrugged.

He rolled his eyes this time, "You're just saying that."

"Maybe I am," she agreed, removing her eyes from his again in favor of the ceiling. "Or maybe I'm just insanely messed up."

"Don't worry, I'm insanely messed up too," he said in a whisper that made her feel like his words were too close to heart for even her to hear.

She was the funny sidekick. He was the mysterious outsider. She was the funny sidekick who found herself an energetic show-stealer. And he was the mysterious outsider who found himself the most innocent one there was. At one point, they'd decided to see if maybe sidekicks and outsiders clicked on more levels than one – with a more intimate title than friends. And he'd made her just as happy as she'd made him; they'd been so great it was nothing short of unbelievable.

"Call me crazy," she began. "But I think my healthiest option is you."

He probably raised an eyebrow, or something, "Yeah?"

She nodded, more to convince herself than to convince him, "Yeah, we're awesome."

"That we are," he instantly agreed, and they laughed. "I would love to be your person, if you'll be mine back."

Her eyebrows shot up, or something, but he probably barely noticed, "What about Tara Webster then?"

"Screw Tara Webster," came his reply, along with the bitterest laugh Kat had ever heard.

And so Kat Karamakov playfully rolled her eyes and made Christian Reed laugh, all before she cuddled up to his side with her head on his chest. She focused on his – again, unsurprising – racing heartbeat as he automatically wrapped both arms around her effectively pulling her closer. Since they'd verbally decided to screw Tara Webster just this once, Kat silently decided to screw Ben Tickle as well; because he wasn't her person, it had always been Christian.

"Hope everything works out," she muttered, her exhaustion washing over her.

"Already has," he replied easily, defeat slowly disappearing from him.


	3. green-eyed monster

**Title: green-eyed monster  
Pairings + characters: Kat, and every academy guy I remembered  
Genre: Friendship, Romance  
Summary: Katrina Karamakov was a social butterfly – her boyfriend? A jealous person. / set somewhere in second year**

 _ **Dance along the light of day - Thank you, that's lovely to hear. Oh I'll keep going, no worries.**_

* * *

Sammy was her best friend – he couldn't find it in himself to hate how she always told him everything first.

 **:::**

She was the literal female version of Ollie, adding to the fact that he was Sammy's boyfriend – so he ignored the dread he felt when he saw them having lunch together every day.

 **:::**

Remy was the kind of partner who carried her books, made her laugh with stupid jokes and always seemed to have his arm thrown over her shoulders – he wished it wasn't so obvious how good they were together.

 **:::**

Ben had a habit of pulling all-nighters in the studio next to her favorite, lending her his jacket for the walk home, and telling her goodnight with a kiss to the forehead – when he saw, he punched a wall.

 **:::**

Sean borrowed her for a dance once, straightened hair, high heels, tight dress and all, proving to everyone why they'd once worked as partners despite it all – he made a point out of being too busy for nights out after that.

 **:::**

She hums _hey girl_ when she's bored, a shy smile making its way to her gorgeous face as she most likely thinks back to better times bitterly – though it breaks his heart to see her smile like that, he never does get around to telling her how much the song bothers him.

 **:::**

Ethan calls every single night, but it's always Wes who ends the call with an "sweet dreams, love". Everyone knows he's just another big brother to her, that she's not less of Ethan's little sister just because he's told her she's hot – he, however, knows that under different circumstances they could've happened anyway.

 **:::**

She goes to the ballet with her horrible parents and Silent Luke and his equally horrible parents, and they laugh at all the wrong places and whisper childhood memories as if they haven't barely spoken since she left the academy and came back – he's not so confident with the fact that she can be herself with him anymore.

 **:::**

Tim the third year star whom she's always had a thing for takes her out to dinner while he's in Sydney and when she gets back she says it was great and never explains why her dress is wrinkled at the hips or why her matching lipstick is smeared – he knows she'll never betray him, but wonders if she's ever entertained the thought.

 **:::**

She visits her dad at work when their Saturday class is abruptly cancelled, and gets to know Damien Lang the humble, injured ex-principal who's trying his hardest to make it as a choreographer. When she tells him she wants to show him her piece for Zack's class that Damien helped her with he barely manages a smile – he didn't even know about her little project to begin with.

 **:::**

With tired eyes and on aching feet he enters the boarding house after yet another all-nighter filled with prix-preparations, his hand stuck somewhere in his hair as he locates her sleeping form on the common room couch. Her curls are pulled up into a perfectly high pony-tail and her lips are painted a daring red that matches the heels she's clumsily left by the door, but that contrasts her body-hugging bright blue dress beautifully. He pays the fact that she did all this for Lucas no mind at all as he pulls a blanket over her mile-long and oh-so-exposed legs, before tucking a loose strand behind her ear and kissing her plump lips a gentle goodnight – he's in love with her, he really is.


	4. through thick and thin

**Title: through thick and thin  
** **Pairings + characters: Grace, Christian, mentions of a girlfriend of your choice  
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship if you squint  
Summary: She's just so tired of being everybody's Grace. / set in third year, where I've decided they were partnered because they should've been**

* * *

"Sorry," she breathes out, her eyes locking with his. "Totally slipped."

He rolls his eyes, "Sure you did."

Their music keeps blaring through the speakers at a deafening volume, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they struggle to get their breath back. He keeps one hand on her bare side as he moves the other to rest on the wall next to her blonde head, and she instinctively leans her head back against the very same wall allowing her eyes to take a little break. Why Miss Raine decided to put them as partners is beyond her, but they're both past caring at this point. They're past figuring each other out both as people and as dancers, past working so intensely on their chemistry because it all comes naturally now.

When she opens her eyes again – fully aware of his hand on her and his breath on her face – he's still looking at her, and she finds herself smiling. A year ago, Grace screwed everybody over and left on a freaking catwalk in Louboutins. Then, she chose the academy because it had been the very first place where she'd managed almost effortlessly to enjoy herself and dance all at the same time. Now, her mind was racing and driving her crazy because he was so damn close.

Grace figured weeks ago that never will she ever truly be in the group, at least not with Sammy around. She's screwed Abigail over and broken Tara the golden girl, and somewhere in between that she'd managed to make Kat's life a living hell as well. There's something about messing around that gives her a high, something about having people freeze and think things over for the third time that makes her smile. She can keep pulling up a chair to sit between Abigail and Ollie, but she'll never really sit with them. She can keep cracking jokes and telling stories, but as long as no one else does Ben won't like her either.

What she also figured weeks ago was that he doesn't care, despite everything. He doesn't care that Abigail never looks her way or that not even Tara's found her worthy of a second chance. He doesn't care that her and Kat are total opposites, that one blonde's loud and fun and loved while the other's twisted and different and feisty. He doesn't care that they've never had a proper conversation in the two years they've known one another, or that it'll take a miracle for them to even be considered friends.

And, despite everything and everyone, she loves that he doesn't find it in himself to give a damn; because they _work_. They rarely speak and have yet to have that one conversation, but they dance like they're in love. They are so insanely different it's almost funny – she's crazy and he's lost – but still they clash together perfectly. They're the Romeo and Juliet of the third year tour, the 'power couple' of all their dance classes, the hint of imperfection in their perfect little group, and the calm of all the crazy that is the academy.

She knows this backwards in her sleep, and he does too – they may not talk, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him all the way to the very core. When they're together everything else ceases to matter to either of them, which is why she doesn't struggle to have herself place her shaky palms on his rock-hard chest, all the while maintaining the eye-contact she shamefully enjoys beyond reason. She doesn't think about anybody or anything, doesn't worry and doesn't care, as she pulls him down to her suddenly awaiting lips and allows her eyes to snap shut when he's just one centimeter awa-

"Grace, we can't," he says, his voice annoyingly calm based on how high she's feeling.

She doesn't want to register his words, but knows them to be true when he gently removes her hands from him and allows her to sink back into the wall. Her chest is heaving again as she struggles to breathe normally, and despite stubbornly keeping her eyes closed she feels certain he's not suffering from the same problem. She doesn't feel stupid for wanting to kiss him, but she does feel embarrassed that the outside world only slips from her mind when they're together. She's not pissed that he has no nor will he ever have any intentions of coming home with her, but she hates realizing she's really just Grace to him too.

When she opens her eyes and they tiredly find his, she's surprised to find there's no pity wallowing in them whatsoever. His hands are hanging loosely at his sides, which makes her think that he'd help her up in a heartbeat. His t-shirt is wrinkled from where she's grasped it, but he doesn't even seem to mind. He's not feeling sorry for her nor is he even pissed at her thoughtless antics – he's just being himself, though unknowing that's all she's ever wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry," she says, though they both know she'd do it all over again if she could.

"It's alright," he replies, running a hand though his messy black locks. "It's just that I have this girlfriend whom I happen to be insanely in love with."

"I know," she continues with a sad smile. "I'm just tired of being everybody's Grace."

He shrugs, offering her his hand, "Well for what it's worth, you're my partner."


	5. finding your place in the world

**Title: finding your place in the world  
** **Pairings + characters: Kat, Christian, mentions of Abigail (my fave), Ollie, Ben, Tara, Grace, Sammy (hope that was everyone)  
** **Genre: Friendship, Angst (kind of, I don't really know man)  
** **Summary: No one shows up to a reunion alone. No one shows up to a reuinon without stories to share. / set ten years after the final episode**

 **Also, I don't own Louboutin, I just think they're gorgeous and worth mentioning.**

* * *

He finds her abandoned self by a table with half a glass of sparkly, her heels at her feet and her hair disheveled.

He tells himself and everyone else that he's just going for a refill, his fourth glass for the night emptied surprisingly quickly and clutched nervously in his right hand – it's only coincidental that the very reason for his nervousness has set up base by the refreshments, nursing the very same drink she was handed when she arrived. Shakily loosening his tie, squaring his shoulders in non-existing confidence, he dips the champagne-bottle to his glass, refilling it with some much-needed liquid courage.

Her eyes are emptier than he remembers them, zeroed in on something unimportant across the room as she remains unmoving in one of many uncomfortable chairs scattered around the venue. He blindly places the bottle, nearly empty now, back on the table as his eyes follow the messy curls of her perfectly blond and gorgeously long hair. As if sensing his helpless stare, she runs a finger with perfectly manicured hands through her locks, her eyes still very much emotionless.

He takes a sip, the sparkly liquid making its way down his scratchy throat easily – he's been drinking all night, after all. Her smaller hand, steadier than both of his combined, makes its way back to her half-full glass after releasing a final curl, her iron grip hinting at hidden anger. He makes himself busy by letting his eyes sweep the table of temptations, knowing perfectly well the only thing he wants has blond hair and bare feet and a bitter smile; at the thought, he takes another sip.

He's spent all of tonight making his life in a rusty old apartment as a pre-academy teacher out to be everything he's ever wanted, his stage-smile only wavering when he catches her blonde head in his peripheral. He's just as alone at this thing as she is, too into his work to bother taking yet another shot at love. Besides showing up late and alone, Katrina Karamakov hasn't – for once – made a big deal out of herself. She didn't teasingly comment on how Ben's stare lingered at her legs, because Grace has a thing for him still. She didn't mention Sammy while she and Ollie danced half the night away, because he's still grieving. She didn't roll her eyes as her two best friends, some weird trio they'd become, attacked her upon arrival and bombarded her with all sorts of questions.

He respected this new version of the girl he used to love, admired her from afar. A version of Katrina he didn't know anything about had confidently wandered around all night in ridiculously high Louboutins making him more nervous than he's ever remembered being; now that he's finally gotten to see this new version up close, he isn't all that impressed anymore. The frightening heels rest in a pile on the floor, her stare-worthy legs are crossed uncertainly, and her perfect locks are messed up; her icy blue eyes have lost their spark, and her aura of confidence is fading.

"You're staring."

Okay, so maybe he just wishes it was fading. Sighing, he downs the rest of his champagne and tries not to think of how it's making his brain a little fuzzy. He whirls around to face her before he can change his mind, because she'll always be the brave one and he'll always pretend. His furrowed eyebrows meets her raised ones, his confused gaze locked on her dead eyes, his uncertain smile failing to match her unwavering smirk. He towers over her just as he always has, standing regally with his shaking hands smartly clasped behind his back. She's forced to look up to him – up _at_ him really, he doubts she's looked up to him in a while – her entire weight supported by the chair.

"Sorry," his apology means nothing to either of them.

She rolls her eyes, bitchier now than the playful gesture he remembers it as, "Yeah okay, whatever."

He takes a deep breath, praying some of the courage she's just breathed out will help him along the way of what he's just decided to do. Her entire posture, the act she's been putting on all night, falters as he holds out his hand; his gaze turns intense, and he's no longer nervously shaking. Her eyes flicker away from his – he prays it's because he got her to feel something, _anything_ – and her furrowing eyebrows make him rise his own in challenge. She's never been one for hand-holding, but he expertly hides his surprise as she accepts his outstretched hand.

Despite him inviting – forcing, challenging, _whatever_ – her, it's she who drags him along with her as they make their way to the dance floor. They both know they look like idiots, her barefooted self tugging on him as he drunkenly stumbles along, their hands laced perfectly – but then again, they've always had a way of making their thing idiotic, so why should this time be any different?

Her purple dress clashes horribly with his red tie as he pulls her in by the hips, and she sends a regretful look the general direction of her heels while struggling to link her hands behind his neck – neither of the two flinch at the disgusting color-combo, mismatching being all too familiar to them both. Despite being company-worthy, they settle for swaying comfortably. And although he's been put off by the fact that he doesn't know the blonde like the back of his hand anymore since she arrived, he doesn't ask her any questions.

"You look gorgeous," he whispers, knowing he doesn't really need to remind her of what he sees in her.

She laughs, her forehead meeting his chest, "Thank you, Christian."

It's selfish of him to completely enjoy his name rolling off her tongue so softly, stupid of him to pride himself for making her laugh when she's been miserable all night – but he does, because with her it's so easy. They were never dance partners, but they move together to the music as effortlessly as they hold onto one another. He places a kiss to the top of her blonde head and it's like going back in time. For the rest of their dance, for the rest of the evening, they don't exchange any words. He holds her in a way that assures her he'll never let her go (not again) and she bravely lets her head rest against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat and ragged breath.

She closes her eyes eventually, and at some point their swaying goes off beat. He's a bitter pre-academy teacher with a movie star in his arms, he's a gutless ex-boyfriend with a heartbeat out of control, an academy student at an event he would've hated hadn't she shown up. She doesn't even reach his chin without her heels, her delicate hands mindlessly drawing nothings on his back – he thanks the heavens for the layers of clothing, knowing full well her touch will always drive him crazy. One of his bigger, rougher hands rests on the exposed skin on the small of her back, the other tangled in her perfectly imperfect curls.

"Thank you," she breaks the silence, her voice stronger than how she stands. "For the dance."

"No, thank you," he throws back softly. "For making my night."

She pulls back, her dead eyes finding his, "How are you? How's life treating you?"

"Thought you weren't like everybody else?" he chuckles, re-adjusting his hands to rest at her curvy hips.

"You're funny," as if she's sensed that he doesn't find her eye-rolls funny anymore, she settles for a sigh. "It's a reunion after all."

He sighs too, "I'm _perfect._ "

"No you're not," she counters immediately, her face expressionless. "But don't worry, I'm not perfect either."

He laughs, this time, "Nope."

It takes him a second too long to realize she's hugging him goodbye, up on her tiptoes, arms snaked around his neck and hands tangled in his hair, calm and confident breaths by his ear. She pulls back before he even has the chance to hug her back, her plump lips lingering by his cheek for longer than necessary. He reluctantly drops his hands, instantly missing the contact, and she flashes him a brilliant smile. She hastily mumbles a goodbye, giving his hand one final squeeze – he blinks, and she's not in front of him anymore.

Her hand rests on Abigail's shoulder as they laugh about one thing or the other, struggling to slip back into her majestic heels. Abigail eyes him suspiciously with full glasses of sparkly in each hand as the music switches its mood and he heads off the dance floor. When they graduated the academy and he turned down the company, Katrina Karamakov was his ex-girlfriend turned complete stranger, the bestest friend anyone could ever ask for, a dangerously gorgeous fire that consumed anything and everyone. Ten years later, she's a confident movie star with killer heels and a dazzling smile, still the best of friends, still with a fire raging within her.

Her tense shoulders finally relax as she sips on her champagne graciously, her hair a beautiful mess cascading down her bare back. Her free hand holds Abigail's up to the tip of her nose, carefully examining the ring that adorns it. Her purple dress, tight and curve-hugging, goes so well with her previous roommate's white one that he nearly accuses them of planning the whole thing. Her carefree laugh reaches his ears over the horrible pop music, and his heart twitches. Her eyes fill with amusement, confidence, love and everything else – his heart _breaks._


	6. kind of perfect

**Title: kind of perfect  
** **Pairings + characters: Kat and Christian, mentions of Grace and basically everybody else  
** **Genre: Friendship  
** **Summary: She shouldn't care that the only proof of her lack of caring and committing were going to be dance-partners, but she did. / set in third year, a little after Christian comes back**

* * *

"Grace wants me to partner with her, you know, because Abigail ditched me for a better option," he called out to her retrieving back.

Kat Karamakov stopped dead in her tracks, looking around to make sure he'd been talking to her and that she hadn't gone temporarily blind and missed Ben over there by the door or something. Grasping her blue duffel-bag tight enough for her knuckles to turn white, she whirled around to face the guy she hadn't spoken to in forever because she would always be second to his anything. He was sitting by the table the third years usually gathered around during lunch; the table she'd been trying her best to stay clear of whenever he was in the mood for third year bonding.

When he wasn't there at lunch-time, Kat saw the group of friends she would do anything for, but when his brooding self skated over and joined them by stealing food off of his ex-partner's plate, she saw third years; and she wasn't a third year, she was just in the group. It was always there, how they were more committed than she could ever have dreamed of being back when she fell for a stupid pop-star she knew was stupid, but it only stung when she passed _his_ booked studio late at night.

"Actually, she ditched you for a present option," she replied, amused by how annoyed he was with her best friend.

He merely shrugged in response – and the selfishness was instantly replaced with the 'I don't care'-attitude she knew backwards and in her sleep. Christian Reed might still be in the group, and despite the fact that they'd shared the same attitude back then, he wasn't her friend; he was once her _best_ , now he was just a third year. Grace was the same, a third year, though the two girls had never even considered friendship since the day they met. She shouldn't care that the only proof of her lack of caring and committing were going to be dance-partners, but she did.

"Is she as good as the rumors say, or what?" Kat found herself asking.

He looked up at her then, removed his eyes from the skateboard resting by his amazingly talented feet, squinting because of the sun that was warming her back and smiling the smile that would always get girls in trouble; thing was, she had no intentions of trouble anymore. His hair was different, she vaguely noted as their little staring-contest continued on. He was still skating during his free-hours too, which didn't make any sense since she never saw him at the park – not that she wanted to, it was just strange.

He looked like an Academy Student, though, she realized after blinking and then giving him a discreet once-over. She couldn't find a sensible explanation, but she knew that if someone saw them on the street together they would instantly guess that he was the one at the academy. He didn't have Kayla anymore, Tara had finally freed herself from him and he was partnering with the Prix-champion – he was serious, committed and driven by the loss of his best friend who was never able to fulfill his dream.

"Who?" He asked, his smirk ruining the supposed confusion he was feeling.

It was her turn to shrug, "I don't know, Christian; Miss Raine, perhaps?"

The carelessness he was forcing himself to portray so no one – but herself – would notice just how much of a ballet-boy he actually was disappeared the second he cracked up at imagining a partnership with the scary but good principal of the school. She almost laughed too, but then she remembered that he was a third year partnering with the Prix-champion while she was stuck a year behind with people who didn't even like her and decided not to.

"She's actually kind of perfect," he admitted with a smile. "Grace is fun like Tara and serious like Abigail all at the same time."

Kat couldn't stop herself from giggling this time – he obviously hadn't hung out with either ex-partner that much lately. Tara'd drowned her sorrows after the ugly breakup with Ben and the blow-off from Christian with dancing, and her best friend was convinced the dreamy brunette had ended up with an incurable case of dance-fever this time. She'd roped Kat into this 'no boys, just dance and friendship'-pact, never joined the group for lunch and seemed to have forgotten that her closet contained other things than leotards. Abigail had finally managed to close the door that contained her beautiful yet tragic history with Sammy and spontaneously jump into a long-distance relationship with a guy she'd known for a summer. She was making music videos and dancing commercially and practicing her lack of acting-skills with the blonde (just so she could have that department covered too) and skyping with the musical-people about a new piece and talking about SYTYCD.

Based on what she'd heard, Grace was the one that gave everything she'd had into the tour – both performance- and social-vise – but still the one who topped every class, did the extras with Zach and had lunch with her god-mother. The girl was messed up, no questions asked, but maybe that was what supposedly made her so much fun; everyone but Kat and Ollie hadn't gotten tangled up with her in some type of friendship for no reason. It wasn't like it was any harder picturing Christian with Grace than with Tara and/or Abigail, he'd been on a freaking poster with her after all, but it was the only image that made her pull a face.

"It's the other way around actually, but you probably don't care," she sighed. "Yeah, I guess that kind of a combo would make her perfect."

Christian rolled his eyes, "I said kind of."

Yet again she shrugged, this time copying his previous body-language and face-expression which showed that she honestly couldn't care less about two simple words like 'kind of'. Saying something was kind of cute was the same as calling it cute, she silently scolded him – as childish and pathetic as it was – as he continued staring her down like he'd receive a bigger prize the longer it took for him to look away.

They had always needed a third party, an excuse, to hang out, and even after their messy breakup it still hadn't changed. The role that Tara had started off with before they realized Sammy was the better option had now been replaced by Grace, and the sad thing was that the two of them – Kat and Christian, Christian and Kat – probably would've gone on with their lives without ever sharing another word hadn't it been for Christian suddenly feeling the need to spill the beans about his recent partnership.

"Same thing," she decided to clarify. "And she can't just be kind of perfect when she's a supposed mixture of your two previous, and surprisingly successful, partnerships."

His smile reappeared, and Kat found herself replaying the first time she realized she had feelings for the outsider with natural talent who looked cool on a skateboard – only this time she could clearly note the blinking red lights going off in her head as the warning she hadn't allowed herself to hear back then. She knew what he was thinking; it was the same that she was thinking, even though she'd earlier swore to herself (and him) that she didn't want any trouble.

First year. It was known to the lot of them as 'the year of bliss', because somehow they'd all gotten themselves paired up – of course, Christian and Tara had always been on the verge of a breakup or in the middle of a fight and Kat's crush hadn't had any intentions of going away. And then Miss Raine had decided to switch up the partnerships they'd all gotten so used to. The two of them had gotten paired up, failed every move miserably and then gotten kicked out of class; it was still the most fun Kat had ever had during a class, and that counted the cozy all-nighters she'd pulled last year with Abigail and Tara.

They hadn't gotten every single move as technically perfect as him and Abigail, and neither had they been able to bring out the natural skills that topped classes from each other. They had definitely lacked the fireball of chemistry him and Tara had no matter the dance they were doing, and she had cared too little to bother pushing him to be a better everything.

"We partnered once," he voiced her thoughts. "If Grace was the perfect partner then she should've had another thing brought into the combo, don't you think?"

"Oh and what would that be, a third of carelessness?" she suggested, harsher than the sarcastic twist she'd been aiming for.

It hadn't been a good partnership, that much they both knew for sure, and it had lasted a total of ten minutes before she went to catch up on some sleep and he went to see someone she now knew had to have been Kayla. But what they also knew for sure was that neither of them were the same people as they had been back then – they both wanted it this time, he was working for both himself and Sammy and Kat had this need to prove everyone that she _did_ appreciate her so-called legacy.

"I think you're selling yourself short there, Katrina, because if I remember correctly you were quite the awesome partner," he stated, grinning.

He was somewhat right, they hadn't been _horrible_ – he'd had tons of natural talent and she'd been stuck with legacy this and legacy that. Thing was that they hadn't been good either, having both had their focus on other things than a pas de deux they'd already danced a million times before. He'd been used to Tara and the way she could never really put her trust in him or how their dancing would always depend on her mood that day. Kat had been used to Sean's strong arms and purposely misplaced hands easily lifting her high enough to make her smile with excitement or their bantering and occasional laughs throughout the entire class (which they'd been doing for so long that Miss Raine had eventually stopped to bother taking notice).

What she hadn't been expecting was Christian's soft hands, just like he'd been shocked with how she put all of her trust in him and allowed him to lead her through every step. He'd been surprised by her grace, and she'd loved how they didn't need any words to perfect the situation. Despite how careless they'd been and how many glances Christian had thrown in Tara's direction, their ten-minute partnership had still been a pretty decent one – and had they been given more time it probably would've eventually turned good.

"And you would know that after only ten minutes now would you?" she threw back, now with the sarcasm and some unintended teasing behind it all. "You were in a bad place, dude, and if I remember correctly you thought anything female was awesome at the time."

He laughed, "Oh please, I have higher standards than anyone."

Back when she'd welcomed trouble as an excuse to avoid dealing with her messed up relationship with ballet, she probably would've blushed at that – boyfriend or not, crush or not. Now was different, because even though she enjoyed hearing the guy that had disappeared from her life telling her that she was worth loving, it didn't change the fact that he had a third year class to get to or that she needed to get to the gym before she decided that she needed food and then regretfully realized she didn't.

He could live with a kind of perfect partner, right?

She honestly didn't have it in herself to go digging in the awful-ending story that was their history together just to help him find out what it was that he and Grace were missing. It was probably all in his head anyways, because she was the best at the Academy and he was still the one with the most natural talent; which was more of an asset now that he'd decided to actually do something about it. They would be great, him and the combo of his partnerships – because she'd never really had the chance to consider calling herself Christian's partner – would be the power-couple third year didn't really need.

Though Kat was secretly hoping for Tara and Abigail and Ollie and Ben (though she would never tell Tara about that last one) to come out on top, she still sent her silent support Christian's way as she whirled around – putting a stop to their rushed and unexpected conversation – and started heading down the road they walked together back when he'd take her skating every Sunday.

"Kat!" he called after her almost immediately. "Stop for a second."

Groaning, she whirled back around with her best 'annoyed bimbo'-look plastered on her face; her arms were crossed and one of her eyebrows raised, and a fire of all anger she'd ever felt towards Christian was burning in her eyes. But because he'd been her best friend first, and watched her slowly slip into self-destruct mode after her abrupt break-up with Lucas, he just laughed at her sudden change of demeanor as he got out of his chair while grabbing his skateboard that brought back far too many memories to handle.

Her unintentional walk down memory-lane must've been pretty obvious, because Christian mouthed 'Raf' before stealing a quick glance at the board that was now placed under his arm. Kat rolled her eyes at him and how he intentionally brought back what she assumed was his favorite skate-memory with her; the first time he had introduced her to his father, and how proud his smile was as Raf shook her hand.

But despite the eye-roll, she wasn't surprised when he didn't say anything as he got to where she'd stopped after he called out to her for the second time and just waited until she continued walking with him now right next to her. If Christian was surprised when she didn't pull away as he threw his arm over her shoulders for the first time in months, he was extremely good at not showing it – which made Kat think that maybe just maybe he'd missed 'us' too.


End file.
